


This is The End

by AddieWho



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Not Really Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 01:43:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8948620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AddieWho/pseuds/AddieWho
Summary: The final (and beautiful) moments...





	

This is the end.  
With the darkness drawn into a cage among the stars, Lucifer back in the pit, and Rowena begging for souls at a crossroad somewhere in the mountains of Pennsylvania, the Winchesters have succeeded. Team Free Will fought hard. Sam, Dean, Cas, Jody, Donna, even Crowley gave their support to fighting the good fight. And they won.  
But nothing comes without a cost.  
Donna suffered from severe third degree burns on most of her lower left side, leaving her cheerful smiles out of place, put off by a wheelchair. The only reason Donna is alive at all is because Jody was there.  
Jody had pulled Donna out of the fire, sustaining the melting of skin on the right side of her face. She doesn’t tell anybody this, but, sometimes, she can’t stand the pictures that she kept of her, her son, and her husband. The only real thing left in those photos are Jody, and now she doesn’t even recognize that.  
Crowley was as eager as any to get back onto his throne. He provided hex bags and curses to the hunters, “An anonymous helping hand is better than none at all,” he had said. Crowley had never been a front-lines kind of guy, but he came away with a few good scars of his own. Most notably, discoloring and raw skin on the right side of his forehead from where Lucifer had attempted to send him back to hell. The gray fog in the white of his right eye never did clear up, but he insists that was always there.  
As for the trio of Sam, Dean, and Cas…  
Sam had the most scarring out of the three. Scars from weeks of torture had barely healed in time for the final fight. At first sight, you might think a wild animal attack Sam’s upper body, but upon further inspection, it’s quite clear that a knife was dragged down the veins in his neck. Various cuts on his face trailed blood all the way down to the neckline of his shirt. Just beyond the ripped collar, another, more gruesome scar had slowly burned his anti-posession tattoo off of his chest. However bloody these were, his ultimate undoing would probably be the bullet wound in the right side of his chest.  
Dean’s scars and scabs had all been healed when he said yes to Michael. Being the final option, Dean prayed a solemn, “Alright. You win. If you swear on the life of your father himself that you will bring Cas back, you can have your ‘yes’.” Little did he know that it was too late for Castiel. He wouldn’t see his angel again until his last moments. His younger brother was the one he should have worried about.  
Castiel was taken from them early on. If memory serves, Lucifer specifically said, “To break the heart of the sword.” Unfortunately, he was all too correct. The angel was taken hostage and held for ransom. Amara slit his throat and hid his grace, telling the Winchesters that, if they found it, they could have him back. What they didn’t know was that she had already used it as a source of power, making her mighty enough to rule the sky. Instead of fighting on the front lines, Castiel stood back and did little things. He would nudge a weapon into the reach of Dean. He rid the brothers of nightmares, leaving them to get a good night’s sleep. A few times, he even put the lid on top of the blender when Sam was too sleep deprived to realize he had left it off. The most difficult had to be materializing behind Rowena at the perfect time to disrupt the spell she was attempting to cast. However, out of all of these, Castiel found most of his happiness when he visited Dean’s dreams. The colors were so vibrant, the setting so beautiful, and he was able to be with his hunter again, which was all the angel could ask for.  
In his final moments, Dean Winchester could only think of the life that he had chosen. The path that lead him there. The people he had met. The wonderful times he had shared in that beautiful ‘67 chevy Impala. The old cassette player still humming.  
Hey, Jude… don’t make it sad  
Take a sad song and make it better,  
Dean looked away from the pool of blood that was collecting under his head. Walking towards him was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Mom?  
Remember to let her into your heart,  
then we can start to make it better.  
A tear of happiness runs down his face as she smiles down at him.  
And anytime you feel the pain,  
Hey, Jude, refrain,  
don’t carry the world upon your shoulders.  
Dean’s pounding head started to relieve him of pain as the world around him quieted. Everything seemed to go silent. Dean couldn’t help but wonder if the universe wanted to hear his mother’s singing.  
For well you know that it’s a fool,  
Who plays it cool,  
By making his world a little colder.  
Under his mother’s superb soprano, Dean could just make out bass notes billowing in harmony. Sitting up with ease, he swiveled his head and saw his baby brother. The Sam standing before him wasn’t a baby anymore, nor was he the man that walked into the battle that day beside his brother. This Sam was happy. This Sam was smiling. This Sam hadn’t seen the world of ugly they had come to know. No. This was the Sam that had an interview to prepare for by Monday. The happiest version of Sam sang along with his mother, serenading his hero to sleep.  
So let it out and let it in,  
Hey, Jude, begin,  
You’re waiting for someone to perform with.  
The room began to glow. Bright light spread from every creface there was. Dean felt as if he were floating. In front of him, his baby brother and long-dead mother now stood side by side. Just above them, another shadow appeared. This one was accompanied by huge expanses of shadows sprawling out from behind it.  
The singing faded into a different tune, staying quiet enough to let Dean focus on his happiness. Above the family he was born with hovered the family he had chosen. Castiel waded in the air, humming the tune that had taken over Dean’s ears as he turned around. Mary, Sam, and Castiel (Winchester) collectively turned around and floated down an asphalt road that had appeared.  
Dean took it upon himself to follow in their footsteps, but soon he found that his weren’t the only feet that were hitting pavement. Looking around, Dean noticed friendly faces joining him right and left. Bobby patted him on the back and walked with him. Charlie looped her arm through his and paced along. Garth’s face was practically glowing with a grin. Jody and Donna began to strut next behind him, both slouched with their hands on their belts. Kevin smirked at him and stepped in stride. One by one, the faces of Dean’s friends appeared and walked with him.  
Missouri. Jess. Meg. Ash. Ellen. Jo. Chuck. Gabriel. Rufus. Crowley. Lisa. Ben.  
They all hummed perfectly in tune to a song Dean could listen to forever. Just as the first lyrics of Carry On My Wayward Son were about to be sung, another face came into Dean’s field of vision.  
Walking with his head down, facing Dean, was John Winchester. With a short nod to his father, Dean and his group had accepted John with all his faults.  
As the road came to an end, Dean looked ahead. The beautiful black silhouettes that had once been his Mom, Brother, and Angel came towards him. He could see clearly now that Sam was just as he had been going in to their fatal hunt. Mary was a perfect as the day she passed. Castiel was smiling wider than ever before.  
As Dean’s footsteps slowed, a million more feet nailed themselves to the ground. There they stood, united, behind the Winchesters. They now faced a light as pure as any they had seen. Dean turned around and smiled at his family. He pivoted back and began to walk towards the light before being interrupted.  
“No.” Jo stated, arms crossing her chest, “You are not taking him.”  
The light emitted a high-pitched sound that translated in their minds.  
“I don’t care,” Kevin spoke, “They deserve better,”  
Bobby spoke next, “These boys have done everything you asked. They played their part in all of your prophecies, they mimed along when you had your ‘plan’. Don’t you think they have earned the right to be free?”  
“They have saved so many people,” Charlie said, “They have risked their lives every day since they were children. They have been tortured, maimed, beaten, bruised, tormented, and killed again, and again, and again. All the people who stand on the planet below us are only alive because of them. We are their family. We are Team Free Will. And we will. not. let. them. go. If you have a problem with that, go through yourself another apocalypse Pity Party.”  
The thing about stories is that they have to end. Characters are put into the world with no idea what to do or who to become. We shape them as much as we shape ourselves. They grow in the pages of a book or in the pixels of a screen. Their adventures stay with us. Their losses torment us. Their fates haunt us.  
Every story had to end,  
But, as Dean Winchester awoke, unharmed in the library of a bunker in Lebanon, Kansas, sat between his brother and his guardian angel, he finally realized,  
Endings don’t have to hurt.


End file.
